


Popsicle

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Food, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are politically correct ways to eat a popsicle. Dean is pretty sure that isn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Popsicle

This isn't what Dean Winchester thought he would be doing post-apocalypse.

He'd tried very hard not to imagine _what_ he'd be doing after the world didn't end, but the few times he _had_ envisioned it, it had always been all kinds of horrible and depressing. Sam in Hell, monsters on the prowl, a life he didn't want with a woman he didn't love…

But Sam is out of Hell, whole and happy. There hasn't been a monster seen anywhere in over a year. And last he heard, Lisa is soon going to be marrying a doctor she met at a yoga convention.

Dean Winchester's life is as close to _good_ as it's been since he was four years old.

But this – sitting on a beach in nothing but a pair of swim trunks, eating sandwiches out of a cooler and watching the tide roll in – is still not something he'd ever figured on doing. It's starting to get late, and except for a few stragglers down closer to the water, the beach is mostly empty by the time the sun creeps down toward the horizon.

When Sam joins him a moment later, plopping down on the sand a couple feet away and slurping noisily on the cherry-flavored popsicle he just purchased, Dean is forcibly reminded of something _else_ he'd never figured on doing that he's been indulging in regularly for a couple of months now.

Sam moans happily, licking a long stripe from the bottom of the popsicle to the top before tilting it and taking it back into his mouth as much as he can. He doesn't hear the noise Dean makes – which is very much _not_ a whimper, thank you very much – or if he does, he ignores it entirely. He just continues making obscene sounds around his frozen treat and wrapping his tongue around it in all kinds of inventive ways, lapping up the cherry flavor when it melts and starts dripping onto his fingers.

The worst part is, this is just Sam enjoying a popsicle. If Sam were _trying_ to drive Dean crazy, he'd be shooting him heated looks from under that floppy hair and smirking with those sticky-sweet lips. Sam doesn't have to _try_ to be enticing. He just _is_.

Somehow, knowing that just makes it worse. Dean is rock hard now, his swim trunks doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact, but he tries not to shift and draw Sam's attention to it. Right now, Sam isn't even looking at Dean. His eyes are focused out at the water, his cheeks flushed from the sun and the heat and the carefree happiness of the day.

Dean keeps watching Sam enjoy his dessert, eventually letting his mind drift a little, imagining those lips on his skin, kissing their way down his chest, wrapping around his cock the way they're wrapped around the popsicle. He watches Sam take the treat deeper into his mouth, watches his eyes fall closed, imagines Sam going all the way down on him. His hand creeps down, pressing against his cock, and sweet _Jesus_ that feels good, and there's no stopping the shuddering moan that escapes his throat.

Sam turns, his eyes raking over Dean, taking in the picture he makes sprawled out on the sand, one hand on his crotch as he leans back on the other elbow and tries not to make any sudden movements.

Even around the popsicle, Dean can see the corner of Sam's lips turn up. He makes a show now of twisting the popsicle, sliding it out and licking his way back up, and God, _God_ , he's trying to kill Dean, he has to be. This is fucking _cruel_ is what this is, and Dean knows that he's staring, his mouth gaping open and his hand frozen over his dick, and there's absolutely _nothing_ he can do about it with Sam's gaze focused so intently.

A trickle of red juice dribbles off of the frozen treat and onto Sam's thumb, sliding its way sensually down the curve, past his wrist, and that's it. That's _it_ , Dean can't take this anymore. He lunges.

The popsicle ends up somewhere in the sand several feet away, but Sam doesn't even have time to cry out in protest before Dean is on him, pressing Sam down into the sand, claiming his mouth and licking the cherry taste from every place his tongue can reach.

Sam moans, slides his hand into Dean's hair, and it's the perfect position for Dean to turn and mouth at his arm, licking his way up Sam's wrist as the hand slides down his cheek and toward his mouth. There's no prompting needed for Sam to press his thumb between Dean's lips, and his eyes go dark at whatever he sees reflected in Dean's gaze.

Probably, Dean should care more that this is a public place, and God knows he's too busy to turn around and see if the rest of the people have left. But the truth is, he just doesn't care. Sam's thumb pops out of his mouth with an obscene sound as he shifts and manhandles his brother into reversing their positions. Now Sam is positioned over him with that same dark, hungry gaze. Dean doesn’t need words to tell Sam what he's after – he presses his hips up, rubs his cock against his brother's thigh, and grins.

Between one blink and the next, Sam has moved down Dean's body. Doesn't even take the time to remove Dean's swim trunks before he's got that mouth on his cock, and Jesus. _Jesus_ , he slurps around it the same way he'd slurped his way around the damn popsicle, closing his eyes and making the same happy sounds. Dean falls back into the sand, his arms too jittery to support his weight as he gasps and trembles.

Sam's wearing a dangerous smirk when he pulls off a second later, fingers finally sliding underneath the waistband of the shorts and tugging them down to Dean's ankles. He tilts his head as Dean blinks hazily up at him. "You know what I'd be doing right now, if I still had that popsicle?" he asks, his voice anything but innocent.

Dean doesn't need to guess. Sam's finger rubbing against his hole is enough of a clue, and the thought of it… He swallows hard. _Christ_ , he doesn't think he'd survive that.

Sam's still laughing at whatever look Dean must be wearing as he bends back to his task of sucking Dean's brain out through his dick. The vibration of it runs through Dean like an electric shock, and he bucks hard into Sam's mouth. Sam, ever the perfectionist, takes it like a pro, but when Dean falls again, he falls right onto Sam's finger, and Sam pushes fast enough and deep enough that there's only the hint of a burn before he's found that place that lights Dean up like a firecracker.

Dean cries out, can't hold it back no matter how much he wants to, and Sam's laughing again around his cock, laughing and slurping and sucking and that damn finger is rubbing and Dean's coming, coming before he even thinks to give Sam a warning, coming faster and harder than he's come in fucking _years_.

He's staring up at the sky, mouth hanging open, breathing like he's just run a marathon, when Sam finally pulls off and out and looms over Dean again with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Liked that, did you?"

Dean doesn't have enough energy to punch Sam in the arm, which is a damn shame, because he's pretty sure the kid deserves it. Instead, he glances down the long, long length of Sam's body, and raises a pointed eyebrow when he sees the telling wet stain at the front of Sam's swim trunks.

Sam at least has the grace to blush when he's caught out, and Dean thinks about forgiving him.

Right up until Sam pouts and says, "By the way, you owe me a new popsicle."


End file.
